


Fix You

by el3anorrigby



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt Fill, Protective Gaby, Protective Illya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-05 03:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14035104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: Gaby isn’t supposed to find out. She isn’t supposed to see Napoleon’s eyes darting wild and unfocused, isn’t supposed to watch in suppressed horror how he’s clenching his teeth, straining desperately in some kind of invisible restraints like he could not breathe, like he’s being tortured.No, she isn’t supposed to have witnessed any of it.





	Fix You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TaterPie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaterPie/gifts).



> Based on this prompt from the Winter Gift Exchange :
> 
> With the lasting effects of what uncle Rudi had done to Napoleon weighing on the U.N.C.L.E team, no one is exactly stable in their emotions when they head to their next (actual first as a team under waverlys guidance) job.

Gaby isn’t supposed to find out. She isn’t supposed to see Napoleon’s eyes darting wild and unfocused, isn’t supposed to watch in suppressed horror how he’s clenching his teeth, straining desperately in some kind of invisible restraints like he could not breathe, like he’s being tortured. 

No, she isn’t supposed to have witnessed any of it.

But she had. Now she is asking Illya questions and Illya has to give her the best excuse he could come up with.

“He had nightmare. That is all.”

He won’t meet her eyes and Gaby presses on.

“Are you sure? Just a nightmare?”

“Yes.”

Gaby is angry that Illya thinks this is something they can hide from her but she is no fool. Despite the constant bickering between the two, Napoleon is more trusting of Illya than herself and she realises this well enough. Sometimes she finds them talking in hushed tones, head bowed together in their own little bubble. They distract her by switching topics when she tries to get into the conversation, and she often gets oddly jealous and annoyed by it. Neither of them is good at sharing secrets but it’s blatant they’re keeping something from her. Gaby tries the best she can to make herself feel like she belongs with the boys. She tries not to push them into telling her anything that they don’t want to, but now that the three of them have settled into a team, it is only fair that she is kept in the loop of things, more for the team’s benefit than hers alone.

“Illya, if Solo is unwell then maybe we should call a doctor. Tell Waverly that…”

“No,” Illya cuts her off, voice firm. “I said he only had nightmare. Cowboy will be better.”

“Are you sure?”

Illya’s lips quirk, but not quite a smile, there and gone in an instant. He would have told Gaby the truth if it had not been for his promise to Napoleon.

“Gaby should know. Her uncle Rudi tortured you and you still suffer from it to this day. She should know this,” he had argued many times with the stubborn American but each time Napoleon would only dismiss him.

“Gaby doesn’t have to know. What happened in Rome was months ago. We’re a team now, a good team. Let’s not ruin what we have, Peril.”

Illya understands Napoleon wants to forget, but Illya could clearly see Napoleon in his head, how he’d found him strapped to that chair, weak, with his eyes closed. He remembers how Napoleon had flinched when he’d freed him from his restraints. He remembers how the choked pain had escaped his lips, how his body had trembled as he helped him to his feet. Ilya had lain witness to it and tonight had almost taken its toll on himself.

“He will be okay in the morning,” he quickly says before his temper starts to flare at the memory, but Gaby, unsatisfied, tries again.

“Okay, then I’ll stay with him tonight. Just in case he has a recurrence.”

“It’s no problem. I will handle it, I will look after Cowboy,” Illya replies, short and firm, and Gaby cannot help but feel like she is shut off.

And obviously, Illya has nothing else to say because before Gaby could argue further, he has disappeared into Napoleon’s room, leaving her more frustrated than ever.

Feeling helpless, she eventually returns to her own room and throws herself on the bed. Trying to sleep afterwards proves to be difficult because the vision of Napoleon trembling in Illya’s arms keeps replaying in her head and she fights back her tears as the vision continues to haunt her.

Earlier, when she had pushed his bedroom door open after hearing his muffled pained moans and had seen the scene in front of her, she was rooted to the spot in shock.

Illya was holding him, hands in Napoleon’s hair, on his face, saying soothing gentle words, rocking him back and forth. But Napoleon’s body was taut with tension, trembling hard, and his eyes, they were open but it portrayed so much pain that Gaby had almost choked seeing it when she had inched nearer towards them.

“Illya,” she had started, but Illya had ignored her presence, had continued his focus on Napoleon.

“Hey, Cowboy, it’s okay,” she had heard him say, “wake up, I’m here. It’s okay,” he had repeated. Gaby had never seen such worry on Illya’s face before, the tensed taut lines of his shoulders, the sheer tremor in his own voice. He had blocked Napoleon from her view, obviously not wanting her to see what was happening but it was in vain.

She had seen everything.

“You are safe, Cowboy. It’s okay,” he had murmured over and over into Napoleon’s ear, sometimes switching into Russian, hands never cease comforting, and finally, after a long time, Napoleon’s shaking and heaving stopped.

Illya then had rolled them together on the bed, placing Napoleon's back against his chest, arms tight around him as he leaned back against the headboard.

“Breathe, Cowboy.”

Gaby had heard a sob escaping Napoleon’s lips and then he was reacting to Illya’s gentle prompting.

“Sorry that you have to do this again, Peril,” he had choked and Illya had said nothing, had only nodded and held him even tighter. The sight had broken her heart and just before she falls asleep that night, she vows that she will get to the bottom of whatever’s happening. 

And the only way she’s ever going to get answers is through Napoleon himself.

 

***

 

The next morning when Gaby wakes, she finds Napoleon sitting at the kitchen counter dressed in his favourite white robe and a pair of soft cotton pyjama pants drinking coffee with a newspaper in hand. It seems like last night had never happened though a trained eye like hers could still notice how tired he looks. He really should still be sleeping because it is too early in the morning, but when their eyes meet Napoleon smiles and Gaby decides this is the time for them to have that conversation.

“Where is Illya?” she starts while pouring herself a glass of water.

“Peril went to get some milk and eggs. Should be back soon.”

Napoleon sips his coffee and continues reading his newspaper, and for a while, he enjoys his moment of tranquility. It’s not often he gets to have it, but moments in between missions like these are a rarity so when it comes, it’s simply heaven. But unfortunately for Napoleon that morning it stays only for as long as Gaby would allow it.

“Illya’s right, you know. You’re indeed a terrible spy.”

Napoleon stills for a moment and sets the newspaper on the counter. He looks up at Gaby, his brows furrowing.

“So, Peril has been talking?”

“He doesn’t have to because I saw what happened last night.” 

“Gaby…” 

“Don’t shut me out,” Gaby indignantly says. 

Napoleon clicks his tongue. He feels her burning gaze on him but can’t seem to look away. He had hoped she wouldn’t bring the matter up. Now it looks like she has cornered him with nowhere to go.

“What do you want me to say?” 

“You were thrashing and struggling while Illya’s trying to calm you! And his practiced movement tells me that wasn’t the first time, Solo. That wasn’t the first time he’s had to do it. It’s a wonder I’ve never seen it before.”

Napoleon takes in a deep breath but doesn’t say a thing, only walks over to take a seat on the sofa across the room. Gaby follows suit, not giving up.

“Solo?”

“It’s not something I’d like to talk about but then I can’t keep avoiding you forever, can I?” Napoleon says finally.

“No, you can’t.”

“Getting electrocuted does that to you.”

Gaby shakes her head, trying to understand what he’s trying to tell her. She takes a seat beside him and grabs his hand.

“Solo, what…”

“I hallucinate it sometimes. In my sleep. It’s rather vivid. Feels real. And occasionally during the day, I find myself having difficulty breathing. Sometimes my chest hurts too.”

Gaby is stunned into silence. And Napoleon continues.

“Unpleasant to hear, I know. But that’s courtesy of dear Uncle Rudi.”

Gaby’s eyes widen in horror at the revelation. Napoleon’s explanation falls into place. And she understands now why there’s always that little bit of uneasy tension between them, why he had always leaned towards Illya. Her fingers fall away from his hand and she stands to her feet.

“Rudi,” she says voice small and hardly above a whisper, “he did that to you?”

“Rather it’s his electric chair. Tortured me for information, tortured me for the sake of it. He was rather pleased.”

Gaby wants to know when and how but then realises the horrible mistake she had made. Realises the part she had played. 

Her expression goes from confusion to being absolutely horrified.

The knowledge is damning.

“ _Oh god_ ,” she says, and then she’s almost hysterical. “I told him about you and Illya. And then that happened and you never told me?? You were tortured by Uncle Rudi and you never told me? All this time I never knew! And not you or Illya ever bothered to tell me this?! Why?”

Shakily, Napoleon runs his fingers through his hair. If Gaby is angry he had kept this from her all along, then he has the right to get angry at her as well. He really wants to. But it is pointless now. Napoleon knows there had been no real way for him to explain or tell Gaby how it had felt being strapped to Rudi’s chair with the idea of no one coming to save him. He couldn’t. And even if he could find the right words, Napoleon wouldn’t tell her how his head had pounded with blood dripping from his nose, how his rapidly beating heart wanting to explode the longer Rudi had stepped onto that pedal. It had gone on and on. When it had eventually stopped, the dull ringing in his ears persisted. The shortness of breath. The dizziness. How could he have possibly told her everything? 

But now that his secret is out, Gaby looks beyond distraught. If Napoleon wants to say anything at all, it is only to make her feel better. Telling her everything had hurt her and it’s the one thing Napoleon had wanted to avoid. 

Carefully, he stands and places a hand on her shoulder and is thankful when she doesn’t flinch from his touch.

“Listen, it had been months before, Gaby. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It does not matter?! How could you say that? I saw you last night, Solo, and you... _you were in pain!_ ”

Gaby’s trembling with anger and she wants to vent because Napoleon is her friend and she has learned to care for him more than she ever imagined she could. Watching him suffer had shocked her to the core and now he is telling her it does not matter?

Tears start to pool in her eyes, body shaking so hard and just as she’s about to lash out again, Napoleon has moved and quickly gathered her in his arms. She tries to pull away but he’s so much stronger and without any fight, she starts to sob unabashedly against his chest.

“I’m sorry. This is why I didn’t want you to know. Because it’ll hurt you.”

“Solo…”

“What’s done is done. Peril had come to my rescue and I’m safe and now we’re here and that’s all that matters.”

“Of course, Illya gets all the credit,” she mumbles and Napoleon just laughs.

It irks Gaby how Napoleon, like always, is taking things way too easily. She wants to shout _'electricity had gone through you! You could have died, it could have been worse! And it’s all due to me!!’_ , but she doesn’t have the nerve so she hugs him harder instead.

There is a comfortable silence between them after that. As they sit there on the sofa holding each other, Gaby runs her fingers gently through his soft hair and kisses his forehead and Napoleon lets it happen, lets his body sag against hers.

“Peril will be extremely jealous if he sees us like this,” he jokes but gets a little confused when Gaby says, “he’ll certainly be jealous of me, not you!”

Though curious, Napoleon decides to forget about Gaby’s little quip.

“You okay?” he asks her an undetermined amount of time later and Gaby’s eyes shine at him. It should be her asking him that, but Napoleon is being Napoleon, a thief so selfless sometimes it makes her heart hurt.

“I’m okay if you’re okay,” she replies and Napoleon believes her.

It _will_ get better for him now that he has two people that truly care about his well being, more than anyone has in his entire life; Gaby and Illya.

And speaking of the latter, Napoleon still finds him every now and then in his bedroom at night, a comforting presence, even if his nightmares continue to lessen. Napoleon certainly questions it but finds he could never say it out loud. Maybe it’s because he secretly enjoys the Russian’s company, enjoys it a little more than he should. But for the moment, Napoleon would rather keep what he feels to himself. 

Because driving Illya away is the last thing he wants.

***

Since his confrontation with Gaby, a weight has been lifted off Napoleon’s shoulders and before long his nightmares gradually start to diminish from his mind. In fact, Napoleon can’t even remember when he last had an episode. 

“Maybe it’s truly over.”

Illya is truly glad when Napoleon tells him this. It’s easy to say that talking to Gaby had helped Napoleon but anything at all could still trigger a recurrence of the hellish experience for the American. 

Unfortunately, Illya’s fear materialises during their very next mission.

Assigned to steal some vital intel that would help stop a government coup from happening, both Illya and Napoleon find themselves trying to break into a vault which contains the much-needed information located in a chamber inside a prominent minister’s home in Amsterdam. And it proves to be a mean task indeed. The installed security is the latest state of the art technology and even after a long twenty minutes, Napoleon has yet to dismantle the first set of alarm codes. 

Illya starts to get anxious. His partner is still fiddling with the alarm system he’s trying to disarm and time is running out.

“Cowboy, this is taking too long. You have to hurry. Gaby will be here soon. We cannot make her wait or it will blow her cover.”

“I’ve cut the wires,” Napoleon answers as calmly as he can despite the pressure from Illya. “Now to press the main button.”

But that would prove to be a big mistake.

He first hears it, the static crackling in the air. Napoleon’s reaction to what’s about to happen, though, is a little too late. When it hits, for a split second he’s back in Rudi’s chamber, tied down to that chair. He only sees that dizzying lightbulb above him and nothing else before clenching his eyes shut, smells the mixed stench of sweat and cologne as panic overtakes him. The false but tangible fear so overwhelming, he succumbs, causing his muscles to contract, body arching in pain and he wonders if he is still breathing.

_“Solo!”_

The frantic shout of his name doesn’t register in Napoleon’s brain, not until a pair of arms are suddenly around him, a strong hold, solid, and Napoleon is suddenly being pulled away, his fingers ripped from the point of contact of where the electric is coursing through him. He jerks and then the force of the shock throws them off with their backs colliding hard against the wall across the room. Napoleon could not think or even breathe at the moment, has no time to figure what’s happening. He moans, bites back a scream. And then the arms that had pulled him to safety are holding him close once again, his back landing against the heavy chest behind him.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s all right. You are safe, Cowboy. It’s fine. You are fine.”

Napoleon struggles for a moment, trying to get away from the person who is muttering those assuring words. He twists in the person’s strong hold but the grip on him only tightens.

“Cowboy, you’re fine.”

Illya, it is Illya. Napoleon realises it now, hears the voice, hears _him_ , then flops back against the Russian. Instinctively Illya curls his giant frame around the American harder as if he is a shield, protecting him from further harm.

“You’re okay.”

After a while, all that can be heard in the chamber are their ragged breathing and the faint hum of the electricity. Knowing Napoleon does not need any kind of reminder of his traumatic experience, Illya at once drags him into the next room, away from the chamber, away from the awful buzzing noise.

“Solo, look at me,” Illya whispers quietly into his ear once they are safe in the other room. “I’m here. You’re safe. You are not with Rudi, you are with me. The vault had some kind of fail-safe trap. Electric shock. That’s what it is. It is not Rudi.”

Napoleon strains to hear what is being said at first but eventually he calms, the trembling of his body slowly subsiding, the shocking feeling of pain moving slowly under his skin ebbing away.

“Peril,” he murmurs lowly, turning his face to hide it against Illya’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I am here,” Illya repeats, breathing calmly, though the words are also meant for himself rather than for Napoleon. He does not relent his hold, not even when Napoleon tells him he is all right.

“Illya,” he calls at his partner, tapping his fingers against Illya’s vice-hold, and it takes another second or two before Illya is aware that Napoleon’s reassuring him he is fine. When Napoleon turns, his eyes are sorry on Illya.

“The mission, we’ve to complete it,” he starts but Illya vehemently shakes his head.

“No. I will tell Waverly we cannot continue with mission. You are in no condition.”

Illya’s fingers wouldn’t unwind from his grip on Napoleon’s arm, and Napoleon couldn’t disagree with him knowing he is right. He is obviously still a little shaken and Illya does not want to risk anything at all.

 

***

 

Napoleon’s head is throbbing.

He’s lying on the backseat of their getaway car, face pressed against the leather of the Fiat Gaby had managed to steal, and while he curls on himself to still the lingering after-effects of what had happened, he realises Waverly won’t be pleased that he’s ruined the rather important mission.

“He’s not going to be happy, Waverly,” Napoleon mumbles.

“Who cares? If he’s got anything to say he can take it with me,” Gaby growls in return from the front, and Napoleon’s rather pleased he has got her on his side. No one wants to mess with an angry Gaby. Illya by his side is strangely quiet though his touches never falter since they had left the premise. That is more than enough for Napoleon. It is all he needs. Too tired to say anything else, he decides falling asleep would be the most decent thing to do and he succumbs.

After what seems like hours, he opens his eyes once again, finds himself in his hotel bed. The vague memory of the shock, of Illya dragging him away from the scene and then bundling him into the car later with Gaby all frantic, seem like a distant memory. He doesn’t even remember how he’d got to his room. 

But when he turns to his side, his awareness returns. His body aches all of a sudden and that causes him to groan. As much as he hates the nature of their work, the fact that he has two fierce partners always at his side is comforting enough. Though one day, Napoleon knows that fact alone would not be enough to save him.

But for now he is alive and that is all Napoleon could ask for.

While lying there, he could hear Illya and Gaby talking outside his room, can’t really make what they are saying to each other, though Gaby is sounding righteously fierce. Napoleon strains his ears to listen and all he gets is her telling him to man up and grow a pair? Curious and worried, Napoleon is about to get off the bed when the door creaks open and he sees Illya standing there looking a little out of sorts.

“Hey.”

Napoleon lifts a hand and waves at him as gingerly as he can. “Is everything okay? Gaby sounds angry.”

“Gaby says I’m a coward.”

“What? Why?”

Illya doesn’t answer this time, only steps into the room after closing the door behind him.

“We have to talk,” he says, his tone all serious, and Napoleon just nods.

“Is it about what had happened?”

The bed dips when Illya takes his seat next to Napoleon, and when Napoleon tries to lean up, Illya stops him. His hand is on his chest, and Napoleon feels his heart stutter, skipping a few beats, and he’s certain it isn’t due to the shock he had suffered earlier.

Those big hands are now on his face, tracing his cheeks, then running through his hair, the touches whisper light, and Napoleon stills like he couldn’t breathe.

“Peril, is there...is there a reason for all of this?” Napoleon finally manages the words from his throat. He seems calmer than he should be, because Illya touching him like this when he doesn’t need to, is truthfully causing his senses to go haywire. Usually, these touches from him are warranted, but right at the moment, Napoleon himself needs some convincing that his mind isn’t playing some kind of tricks on him.

“If you’re worried about what had happened…”

In the lines of Illya’s face, Napoleon can see what he had said is true because he really looks troubled.

“Cheer up a little, Peril. I’ve had worse than this.”

Illya’s lips twitch and pull down in a frown because of course, Napoleon had just said something terribly wrong.

“You have had worse but I do not like it when you have it worse! I do not like it if you think it’s okay for you to have it worse! Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Illya’s gaze is heavy on him and he stares and continues to stay where he is, lets Napoleon look at him with curious eyes, lets him read what he is trying to say between the lines.

“What happened with Rudi is in the past. And now that Gaby knows, it should be better. It should be better than this,” Illya continues when Napoleon remains silent. “It does not have to be worse.”

“Of course,” Napoleon answers. “I know it isn’t fair on you both, that you’ve to suffer as well because of this thing that I have.”

“No, Cowboy, that is not it.”

Napoleon has misunderstood everything and Illya is suddenly very amused. He can’t help but smile and seeing that look on Illya’s face just agonises Napoleon further. He’s making a mockery of his misery! He is tired, really tired, and he really needs Illya to leave.

“Maybe you should go. We will talk to Waverly tomorrow about our team arrangement. Don’t want to be compromising every mission, don’t want to be jeopardising Gaby and you every time we go out on the field. That would be selfish of me,” he adds, tries to smile himself and make it seem that it’s not hurting him to say it. But when Illya curses out loud and mumbles _‘you’re an idiot, Cowboy’_ before leaning down and kissing him hard on the mouth to force his point, Napoleon realises he is the one that has read the entire thing wrong.

_Oh!_

“Since when?” Napoleon murmurs after Illya breaks the kiss, red-faced and sounding a little embarrassed.

“I don’t really know,” Illya answers, face equally flushed as well. “But it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t. But what matters is I am an idiot like you say and I’ve never been gladder to say that in my entire life.”

“Things will get better, yes?” Illya asks and Napoleon nods like a promise.

Cupping Illya’s face between his hands, Napoleon then turns serious and murmurs, _‘Forgive me?’_ , asks him to stay the night. Unthinking, Illya grips Napoleon’s hands tighter than he’s ever done before and places one palm of his hand against his own heart, mutters _‘always’._

**Author's Note:**

> Did my best to fill and work around this prompt, though it might not have met all the criteria? But nonetheless, I really hope you'll like it!
> 
> PS: Borrowed the title from Coldplay :)


End file.
